


The Fragile

by collegebookgirl



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collegebookgirl/pseuds/collegebookgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I love her like the moon loves the stars, and the dance the trees share with the wind. I want torture this thing that binds her to this pain. I want to skin it and find it's muscle. It's threating to spill out of her like sun rays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Okay, so this is new. This is Peeta's version of "Paradise". I've been working on it for awhile now, and finally perfected, what I believe, to be Peeta's mentality. It's challenging because he's so much more descriptive than Katniss. You do not need to have read "Paradise" to understand this story. This is just to explore writing styles, and introduce another perspective. If you guys would like me to continue this, updates would be every other week for this story and Paradise. I hope you all enjoy, and please review, I love hearing feedback, good and negative, it all helps me improve my writing for you guys ;)
> 
> This story draws inspiration from "The Fragile" by Nine Inch Nails.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by Radical Faces' "Welcome Home, Son"

The ovens were hot, scorching the air around me, and making it almost impossible to breathe. It was something I got used to, early as a child. If there was one thing Mother instilled in me, it was a work ethic and harsh tolerance. I put the bread in the oven, and took the warm-bodied ones out to cool on the rack.

The bakery was small, a little hole in the wall inviting costumers off the streets. I set up chairs outside to appeal but in this cold — nobody wants to come out of their house unless necessary. I wiped my hands on my apron to get off the flour and raw dough.

I should invest in new attire, but my Father's worn old one was so at home on me, I was sometimes reluctant to take it off. I put it down on the counter behind me though, and started to clean up the shop.

I had a few costumers today, some with children, and sold some bread and cookies. It's exciting to own my own my own shop, though sad I am the only Mellark who does.

I wish I could have moments of my life back, but I'm not that lucky.

The oven dinged behind me, and I placed the pan on the rack with all the others. I swept the floor, and wiped down the glass displays. Grabbing a small bag of flour from the supply cabinet, I put it under my jacket to keep it from getting wet in this rain.

I hate it when it rains. I'm on edge and nervous, and it gets hard to maintain control but I do it. I'm surprised at this control I have over myself and my episodes, a pleasing feeling that makes me feel confident. I turn off all the lights and lock the door under the small tin roof. It is pouring now from the slight drizzle of the morning. I turn and as fast as my half-legs can, I make my way home.

I wonder if Katniss will be there. Some days she doesn't show up and some days I find her lying in my bed; naked. When I find her like that I walk away and go to Haymitch's. Because then I am aware of how broken she really is, and the damaged goods that we are. I usually have an episode and Haymitch doesn't know my trigger-stoppers so he just puts me on a bender.

I reach my house quickly enough, it's gray concrete blending in with the clouds rolling in. I push my way into the house quickly to escape the downpour. Katniss is standing behind a made up table with a chicken she places over top of it. She looks up then, surprised to see me home earlier than usual.

She has an apron on. I'm sure my mouth is gaping. She looked so perfect there, cooking, almost as if it was natural to her. This primitive thing gnawed at my brain. My Katniss, cooking in my house, making me dinner. She was so beyond perfect in this role that I couldn't help it. This idea of what I wanted in life was right before me, and I didn't know what I wanted to do with it just yet.

A part of me was scared she may want something from me like usual: plain or rough sex. She usually asked for one or the other. She always knew it was painful for me to give these to her. I want to give her the world, and all she wants is a quick lay. So I savored this moment of a warm dinner and my girl behind it. She was beautiful, and heartbreakingly soft. So I moved out from under the alcove and stepped inside.

I didn't have to beg her to come over tonight and eat or talk with me. She was right here, in the willingness that I admired. I want to make love to her like she deserves. I want to make her feel like the sun because that's what she is. I wish I could make her better- heal her like she needs - not these medicines that mimic emotions and sleep. She needs care and love, yet she won't let me give it to her. I tell her all the time - or at least try - to say that I love her.

Sometimes I'll let it slip and she'll yell or other times interrupt me before I get to finish. She needs more than my simple "I love you" but she won't let me get that far. I love her so much more than baking, sunsets, and snowflakes. I love her like the moon loves the stars, and the dance the trees share with the wind. I want to tell her so many things, though she prevents me.

I could care less about sex with her- I just want to tell her I love her.

Haymitch wonders why I stick around - I can feel his gaze on me when I crawl back into her house to apologize. He wonders why I stick around if I don't get the one thing I truly want. It's just that, I know she feels something. I feel it when we're together. This thing threatening to spill out of her like rays of the sun.

The way her skin smells like the earth after it rains, and her mouth that tastes like cool cherries - I need her like a pulse, this aching, caring thing inside me that unravels when she is away from my side. I want to show her what it's like when the earth collides with the space in between the sun. She deserves so much more than what she believes she's worth.

Everything about her is intoxicatingly beautiful. The hair that falls out of her braid that she tucks behind her ear, and the smell that brushes off her skin when she rubs her neck. I want to take all of her inside me and make her feel as amazing as she is. It's hard though, when every time I try I either end up with punches to the jaw or a comment that bruises my heart. I hate everything that has made her like this. I want torture this thing that binds her to this pain. I want to skin it and find it's muscle.

A small smile is on her face, and my heart painfully contracts in my chest.

"You cooked," I say, and this foreign grin spreads over my face, making my cheeks hurt.

"Yeah," She says, looking down at her feet and up again. "It may taste bad but you know, I wanted to do something for you—" Something for me? Baby, you don't need to do anything.

"I love it," I say, interrupting her. "I haven't even tasted it yet, and I love it," It smells like a warm meal and I step forward.

"Peeta," She says my name, and turns a beautiful shade of pink. I walk forward to where she stands and tug on her chin to see her eyes. Those gray eyes I'd live a thousand lifetimes to see over again. Her heart-shaped mouth is begging to be kissed, but I don't kiss them. I want to save this moment.

"Thank you, Katniss," I whisper against her skin. "I know it's—" I clench myself in pain at the raw truth. "I know it's hard for you to — to be around me—"

"Peeta," She interrupts me now. I open my eyes and hers are smoldering, more alive than I've seen in days. "It's not hard. You help me, I help you. Take this as repaying you for all you've done."

It astounds me that Katniss thinks she needs to repay me, I could happily sit and watch her twirl her hands if it meant to be near her. She's worth so much more than repayment. She's my soul.

"You don't have to repay me," I whisper against her cheek, and feel her blood heat up beneath the thin stretch of skin. "Being around me, it's enough, this is just like a super-bonus," I say, reluctantly pulling away and smiling my stupid smile. Her eyes get heavy than, and she wraps her arms around me, and I am glad to be close to her again. Her small hands splay themselves across my shoulders and I feel the tips of her fingertips pressing into my sinking flesh. If I hold her any longer, we'll forget dinner.

"Katniss," I sigh, pulling away from her arms. "Let's eat," She groans, and as I turn away I smile. She wanted to hold me. Katniss has put so much effort into this meal, the table that looks lovely, all draped in red and shiny silver, and warm candles that accent her golden skin. I sit down, and her across from me.

I grab the knife and slice the chicken open, it's juices seeping and place slices onto my plate. I pick up the cold metal fork, and the thunder booms around us, causing Katniss to shiver. I want to kill the thunder.

It tastes smoky, and seasoned, the cheese melted in the middle, giving a sour bite to the sweet chicken. I groan outwardly, not able to keep it in.

"This is really good, Katniss," I say, and shovel more in to my mouth. I want to slow down but that's near impossible.

"No need to lie Peeta, if it's bad, you can just tell me," She snaps. My body aches almost as if taking an imaginary blow to the kidney. I quickly smother it, and swallow the hurt in my throat.

"It's good, Katniss," I say. "Where'd you get the recipe from?"

"My Mother. I called her yesterday," She's talking more than usual. I wonder if they've put her on another medication.

"How is she?" I ask. Speak more, please.

"Fine," She says, and I think she is done until she opens and closes her mouth again before speaking. "District 4 got some remodeling so she opened up that new hospital she wanted."

"That's great," I say with sincerity. He Mother calls me often to see how Katniss is doing, and this news is new. I always tell her the same things, she's fine, no she's not dead, yes she's distant.

We eat in silence and Katniss picks at her plate of food she hasn't touched. When Katniss is silent like this, she is thinking. I am afraid she will leave so words bubble on my tongue and spill out before I can stop them.

"Are we going to bed again?" I ask, and watch her. Waiting, hoping for the response I want, but don't usually get.

"Yes," She mummers and I swell with joy. I stand up eagerly, and try not to come across as to excited and stupid. Katniss stands too, wiping her mouth with her napkin and throwing it on top of the table. She reaches my shoulder in height, and I grab her hand as we walk through the kitchen towards the stairs and climb. I don't want to take her hungrily against the wall as usual, or have her attempt to grab at me. I want this to be slow, so I pray silently that it goes that way.

When we reach my plain room with it's white comforter and tan walls, I grab her hips. I feel the bones beneath them press into my palls making me aware of how malnourished she's been lately. I watch her eat at nights, but I never know if she eats during the days. Haymitch certainly doesn't watch her.

I press my lips against hers, and she tumbles to the bed beneath me. I look down for a moment before quickly crawling over her. I want to make love to her like she deserves. She doesn't need some quick fuck. She needs colors and divine light to encase her. Which is why when she gives me the chance to mold her body with my hands, I grasp at the opportunity. She's impossibly soft, and musky. Smelling of vanilla and deep green forests.

Her hair, silky and brown that shines in the moonlight caresses my chest. I push it behind her ear and lean forward to claim my lips as her own. She gives me power here. I don't want it, but she gives it to me: take control, her body says. Take me under your body, and make me yours. I want to believe her body and her mind speak the same language, but they don't. As much as I lie to myself, I can't lie about that. I moan outwardly when she licks the pulse point on my neck. I lean down and kiss my way over her neck, taking my time.

She's breathing heavy, and it's causing a release of neurotransmitters in my brain that make my vision hazy and my body rigid. She bites my lip, and my knees start bucking, though there is nothing to fall on top of.

"You can touch me, Peeta," She moans, and my head sags forward. She's just so fucking perfect. I lean my head forward and take her collarbone against my lips, and let my hands explore her chest. I feel her heartbeat beneath the thin stretch of skin, encased in her beautiful rib cage.

"I need to — I need to — get out of my clothes," She says as I kiss her neck. I am about to reach for the hem of her shirt before she flips us over, and takes an alpha position over me. I love her life this, not because I'm inferior or weak, but because she wanted me, and would do anything to get me.

Katniss' nails scratch my stomach, and I wither in anticipation. It's a gut reaction, her touching me there, one I can't control. She repeats the action over again before finally reaching the hem of my shirt and pulling it over my head. She stares at my body for a few moments, while my hips buck into hers, and I feel slightly embarrassed, though can't help the reaction. Her eyes flicker up towards mine.

"Your turn," She says, I nod and reach to take my pants off, Katniss eyes turn cold and hot at the same time. "I want to do it," She brought her small hands to the top of my pants and undid the snap, then hissed the zipper down. I want to go back and say, no, stop, but I can't.

I want to give her everything, even if it causes me pain.

The memories of what the Capitol did to me are fresh in my mind like oozing sores. I don't want to acknowledge them, but every time Katniss goes to grab me or kiss me there, I remember them and their tools and panic.

I brace myself against the mattress and calm myself when her wrists brush me. I breathed calmly, trying to steady myself with the episode that was threatening to come forth. Katniss knows about my problems down there, though I want to give her this small façade of a victory so she can feel triumphant. She deserves it.

"Lift Up, Peeta," She says and I can barely make out her words with the screaming that's going on in my head. I lift my hips and I brush against her stomach. It's not her hands, so I am fine. It's hands that I can't handle, not bodies.

The pain quickly subsided bringing up it's pleasure fast.

"Katniss —" I say thrusting my hips obnoxiously against her. "I don't — I don't want to be rude —" Again, another thrust, pressing myself against her. "But can I please get you out of these pants?" Katniss nods and reaches down to strip them from her body. She's wearing black underwear, that hugs her in the most perfect of ways and I decide that this is my favorite color on her. The way her sunset skin contrasts with the black beautifully, is enough to keep me entertained for hours.

Katniss takes no time in grabbing the waist band of my underwear and yanking them off my body. I blush at this, because I always do. Katniss makes me nervous all the time.

So I focus instead on how I want her under me, to see her hair all splayed around her face like a halo of dark ink and beauty. I grab her hips from up above and flip us over. And just like that, the waves of brown under head, and the glow of her skin in the moonlight.

I pushed my hips into hers, and the tip of me was inside her and I wanted to continue, slowly, because I don't want to rush through something like this. This deserves slow movements and heavy breaths filled with words we cannot use to describe.

"You okay, Katniss?" I ask, to make sure I'm not causing her pain. That first night was horrible just because I had to watch her struggle in pain.

"No, no, Peeta, it's okay," She pants, trying to get air to her lungs. I pressed forward and Katniss opened her legs wider. My head rolled back, with her sudden movements.

"Tell me —" I lick my lips to calm myself. "Tell me if you want to stop," I said as I pulled out again. I watched as panic came across Katniss' face and how she started breathing rapidly. Her ankles locked themselves around my back, so I didn't come out completely.

"Don't Peeta," She says desperately. "Don't leave."

"Don't worry, Katniss. I'm coming back," I swear to you. "I'll never leave you," Not even when you tell me to. Katniss oh'd in my ear and I felt her small hands search down my back for something that wasn't there. I slid back into her.

"You feel so amazing, Katniss," I say into her ear. "I — ah," I couldn't hold in the moan that escaped me. I slid back out of her again. She didn't panic this time. I pushed myself further into her.

"Go faster," She groaned, pulling my hair. I didn't notice her hands, how they traveled from one part of my anatomy to the next. It was all a blur.

My body was shaking, wanting release, but I submerged it, and let myself hold it in until Katniss was ready. Her brows were pulled together and I leaned forward and kissed the middle of her brows, not stopping my rhythm.

"Are you —" She says before breathing deep into my ear. "Are you close?"

"I — yeah —" I was unable to form sentences. Katniss yanked on my hair, pulling it quickly, and I felt intense pleasure that she liked it so much. Her face was delicate, beautiful like lace in my hands, and I removed them with shaky hands to grip the sheets that lie beside are pressed bodies. I clutched the fabric there, and if I wanted to I'd probably rip it.

My rhythms became broken suddenly, this biological need for release taking over me, unable to contain it anymore. I thrust into her with the minute amount of gentleness I could manage, and then suddenly fell flat, and my body released itself.

"Katniss . . ." I moaned and unclenched my hands from the sheets to cradle her face. The smooth, dewy skin that glowed like liquid sunshine in the moonlight. I kissed her deeply, forgetting that she usually doesn't like kissing after making love, but she let me this time, and I was shocked. So I rolled our bodies over and wrapped my arms around her. She doesn't usually let me do this either, but she's allowing it.

"Are you happy?" I ask her, wondering if maybe she forgot her medication. She's different today, in a way I like, which makes me believe something must be wrong.

"Yes. Was it good for you?" She asks looking up at me, and I scoff.

"Of course," I roll my eyes. "What kind of question is that Katniss? Of course it was good for me. Just sitting and knitting scarves would be enough for me," She laughs, and I feel it through her ribs and I want to take it and keep in in my mind so I can replay it.

She stretches her body and her small toes brush themselves against my calves and I sigh internally. Her stretches before hunting, in bed, or on the grass, all make me feel lightheaded and weak at the knees. I wrap my arms tighter around her, pushing my limits, but apparently not so far because she allows it.

"Are you spending the night?" I ask into her hair. I clench my eyes shut and expect her to pull away or say no. I feel her head move against my chest. "Wait, what was that? I can't tell if your nodding or shaking your head," and I pray that it's a yes.

"I said, yes," She says pushing her self closer to my coddling body. She was staying, and wanted to be closer to me. I wonder if I'm dead.

"I love —" I start than sigh. It would be perfect if it didn't ruin such a moment.

"You can say it Peeta," She whispers into my skin.

"What?" I ask, incredulous.

"You can say it if you want. I promise —" I feel her swallow and take a breath. "I promise I won't get mad."

"I just —" I choke, out of words. "I love you."

"Me —" She starts and then looks up me, expecting to find an answer in my face.

"It's okay," I smile and realize all that she did today was for me, and me only. "I know."


	2. Wanting More From This Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, "The Fragile" is insanely difficult to write, but for the sake of Peeta and his story that dies to be told, I will continue to write this. "Paradise" is much easier to write just because it's not set in stone what will happen. Thank you to everyone who has read, added this to their favorite lists, story alerted this, and importantly reviewed! Reviewing is the only way I know if you guys like this story! It helps me improve my writing for you so I can deliver better chapters ;)
> 
> This chapter is inspired by "Cover of Night" by Steve Reynolds.

There is too much going on in my head. There is Katniss and her words, and the meaning behind them, and my dreams of everything I wanted, right at my fingertips. I lean into her neck and inhale her scent that brings me to a ledge of something I want desperately want to fall into.

Her skin is hot where it touches mine, a sign that she is alive, and safe, in my arms. I resist the urge to moan out in pleasure at the moment. I don't care that we have sex, or that she gives me power there but no where else. I want these soft moments with her that are filled with words we cannot say.

I look out the widow above us and try to count the stars in the sky, but they all seem to blur together into a palate of colors I don't have names for. The moon is shining on Katniss' features, illuminating them, and making her more flawless than she already is.

She's so alive in my arms, I want to cry out at how much I love this. I wonder sometimes how I can keep it contained in my chest, it's so painful. I've kept in for years, what's another few hours? It's hurting me, keeping all this love I have for her inside me.

Katniss wiggles in my arms, and I know the feeling all too well.

"Don't go," I say and press my fingers into her hot flesh. It molds against my hands — silky and smooth. Katniss wiggles again. "Please don't," I say more urgently and desperate.

"Peeta I —" she stutters, unable to find words. "I need to go to the bathroom," She makes out. I have heard her excuses before, and I am scared she will leave.

"You promise?" I ask.

"Promise," She says. After the evening she created for us, I reluctantly let my arms relax their hold and let her walk. I watch her walk, moonlight glowing her naked skin, bathing it in a milky white.

It's highly masculine, and circa my brother Riley, but I watch her bottom as she walks away. It's taut muscles and lean form, and the way it pours into her lower back perfectly, it's enough to keep me awake for hours. With one last look at me, she shuts the bathroom door behind her and I hear it lock.

Most men would be upset that that the person they just made love with would lock the door on them, but it just makes her so much more Katniss, that all I feel is the realness of her and her actions. All wrapped in a bundle, addressed to my name.

The ceiling is black above me is black and an abyss that gazes back into me. This darkness is like an open wound, seeping and bleeding like an exposed body. I want Katniss back because it's the one thing that ties me to this bed, and this world.

I look over the window and try to focus on the light of the moon and try to not let the abyss take me up in it's cold arms like it does when I am weak. When I am weak it is when Katniss is gone. But she's in the room next to me, I will keep it together for her. She needs stability, and I have been keeping up with it, I can't let it slip now.

I wrap my legs in the crisp sheets and let them tangle between my legs. Moments that will keep me attached to this earth and not in my mind. I don't need to get wrapped up in complicated thoughts and complex emotions, I need to be grounded.

I lean over and smell the pillow Katniss was laying on. When she does leave me, I smell the pillow until I am forced to wash it, and her scent no longer lingers there.

I wish she would let me tell her how I feel, just so she can know how much I love her. But if given the chance, I don't think I would even be able to form words that would come close to describing this ache in my chest. I throw my arm over my head and try to put myself to sleep.

I hear the door jam push open and soft footsteps break in and I pull my arm away to find her standing flawlessly and staring at the bed. I'm suddenly self-aware of the sheets that barely cover me, and I want her to look away, but she doesn't.

Apart of me wanted her to keep staring.

"You okay?" I ask her, the look on her face is troubled.

"I'm fine," She replies, and I accept this, and watch to she if she's going to walk back into my arms, but she doesn't and I am afraid she will turn and walk away.

"Are you coming back into bed?"

"Yes," She says after a few breaths and walks over to the bed. I open my arms and she rolls into them. It reminds my of my childhood, back when Mom was normal and we would lay together after a nightmare.

Katniss stretches her body, and I feel her small toes brush my legs and I want to feel her stretch all the time, because it's utterly beautiful to watch in this moonlight.

"I really liked dinner tonight, Katniss," I admit.

"You're lying," She says harshly, I wish I could take it away. "It was disgusting," She says less violently, yet still knife-like.

"Let's do this more often," I whisper into her hair, breathing her forest scent in. I want to bring us back to the fresh feeling of reality we had earlier. "I really like it. I don't know what about it yet, but everything just seemed so amazing and new, I just —" I break off, starting to choke up.

"I know," She says. I look down at this girl in my arms and the love I feel for her is so immense I want to scream it aloud.

"Katniss, I know I —" I break off, wanting to gain control. "I know I say it often but," her eyes flicker up to meet mine. "I really do love you," And I look down at her soft gray eyes that are like molten snow, and I want to love her until I have no more breaths in me.

She lurches from my arms.

"Wait Katniss, I didn't mean —" I say, and stop. Because I did mean it, and she knows it.

"I need to go, Peeta," She interrupts me before there is a silence.

"No you don't! You can stay!" I sound desperate I know, and I'm sure Haymitch can hear us like always, but like always — I don't care.

"I'll see you later today Peeta," She says as she pulls on her shirt. She practically runs out of the room, and I take the steps two at a time to keep up with her.

"You're scared because of what I said! I'm sorry! I should have known —"

"You're naked Peeta. Go upstairs and leave me alone. I don't need you blubbering after me," It was like everything at once, standing in front of the door with this girl I love. Her words, like swallowing glass and acid, sank into the depths of my mind and reminded me that even though we broke a routine, we are still the broken boy and girl from District 12.

"Bye Katniss," I choke out, tears stinging my eyes. I don't want her to see me cry. She looks at me, and I look at the ground and all I hear is the sound of my door slamming and quaking from the impact of being shut.

My tears aren't foreign to me, they are something I remember from my childhood, and now are only reserved when I can't save her from herself. So I welcome them, and let them cradle me until I'm ready to feel normal again.

Riley always criticized me. Men don't cry, men don't feel, men act, men don't worry. Despite my ever-present, understanding Father, Mother never understood me, and I severed all ties with her when I left to The Games.

I went upstairs and threw on some clothes and a t-shirt. I was quiet now, my tears having subsided quickly, and I just felt raw. Like some open war wound, detached and phantom like. I walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water onto my face.

Nothing would ever end, would it? I could convince myself day after day that she and I were getting better, but no matter what, we always ended up at square one.

The icy air seeped in through the cracks in the windows and I leaned close to the edge and breathed in the snowy scent. It's crisp flakes, and cold knowing that helped me clear my mind and cool my body.

I stepped away and look in the mirror.

What was I doing? What was right? Was I wrong to love her?

I wish there were answers to my internal monologue, but nothing justified it. There were only more questions that lead to others.

My hair was in disarray, my skin pale in this cold, bleak weather. I wish I was better looking, because some twisted part of me believes if I was, that Katniss would appreciate me more. Maybe if I cared less like Gale, or stayed distant like her Mother — maybe that is what would bring her closer.

It seems as though I need to suppress everything I feel and everything she deserves so then maybe she'll accept me. She deserves divine light and soft words and beauty. Not Victor's Village, and this rough, inhuman sex she seems to want all the time.

I brace my hands against the counter in front of me before pushing off roughly. I run my fingers through my hair, not calming it down, and pace slightly. I want to chase her. Run after her, take back my words I want so deeply to give her.

I open the bathroom door and it slams the wall harshly before hitting me on my way out.

I practically fall off the stairs I'm climbing down them so fast. All my images on the walls are blurry, and meld together into molten embers of unforgettable memories.

I lurch the front door open and it slams behind me. I breathe slowly, wanting to calm down before I do what happens almost every night.

I can practically feel Haymitch's eyes on me as walk across the cobble stone sidewalk.

I got to Katniss door. I stand in front of it and see all the fissures inside it, all the mold over the top. I saw how the water pipe in the ceiling has a crack, and drips over the corner of her door. I could hear the water going through the pipes. I saw how the concrete was protesting in the weight of the second story on top of it.

I knocked.

I knocked again.

I knocked until my knuckles were about to bleed.

Nothing.

I finally pushed open the door and was shocked when I didn't feel the instant relief of heat. It was cold, like an icebox, and I wondered why Katniss would turn her heaters off like this. She had been staying at my house lately, but she never shut her power off.

I tentatively walked through the house trying to find her, not wanting her to be upset.

"Katniss?" I called. "Katniss?" I said as I reached the kitchen.

That's when I spotted the patio door wide open, inviting the chilly air into the house. I walked over to shut it, when I saw a brown strand of hair whip into the room, flying against the wall. I walked outside to find Katniss sitting, purple in the gutter next to the trash that skittered around her blue hands.

I grabbed her by her upper arms and practically threw her on the ground, with my body on top of hers. Hoping the body heat would warm up her strikingly discolored skin. I used my foot to close the door behind me.

"Katniss!" If a heaven exists, I pray they help me. "Katniss, are you alright? Katniss, talk to me!" I am scared I am about to cry again, but that would do nothing to help the situation. I push her shirt up, and splay my hands over her taut stomach and try to transfer the warmth from my hands to her icy stomach.

Like a dark, frozen angel, she was laying there, and then coughed, blood covering the bottom half of her face, and I'd never been so happy.

"I need you to stay with me okay," my voice trembles. "Just stay with me Katniss," Her body was quivering, shaking, trying to get her out of this immobile state, and I scooped her up in my arms and thought of the one thing I could do that would make her normal again.

I jogged her up the steps, leaping, and bounding them to get to the bathroom.

"Don't panic," I said to her, more for my benefit. Her head lolled back. "Stay with me, Katniss," I reminded her urgently.

I kicked open the bathroom door, almost tearing it off it's hinges but I could've cared less. I felt her getting heavier in my arms. I laid her as gently as I could on the floor.

"Stay with me, Katniss!" I yelled, wanting her to hear it in her bones. Her body was convulsing wildly. I reached over and turned the faucet on as hot as it would let me. I let it fill up to the top, creating a micro-sea of warmth.

I tugged her clothes off her body and threw them on the floor. I picked her up and settled her in the tub, and I tumbled in after. I sat from behind as the shuddering stopped, and I poured little pools of water over her face.

"Come on, Katniss," I beg. Her arms wiggle and twitch around me, and I am so relieved a press a kiss against her head. Her arms start to turn color, turning into a light blue instead of the forever purple.

"Oh my God, Katniss," I tighten my grip around her. "Thank God," I wrap my arms around her and rock her. "I don't care what you say I'm going to say it —"

"Peeta, no," She croaks.

"I love you, and this is never going to happen to you again. I swear on my life, you'll never feel this way again."


	3. Every Summer There Was Imminent Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys, so this is so far my favorite chapter to write in both The Fragile and Paradise. It's just Peeta, and everything that he is, and I just love it. Thank you to everyone who has told me they like this perspective from Paradise, it keeps me wanting to write this. Peeta just has so much going on in him after the war, that hasn't really been told. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, thank you to everyone who reviews, favorites, alerts, and reads. It means the absolute world to me. This chapter was edited by the lovely jennibrolawrence19, she did an amazing job, so thank you so much! :)
> 
> This chapter was inspired by "Carried Home" by Iron & Wine.

I hate Haymitch's house. It smells like piss and vomit and I want to run away and bake bread, kiss Katniss, and keep her in my arms. Haymitch's house is just a reminder of how broken The Games have made us. I try and say to myself that this is proof of how well I am recovering, but it hurts me to know it's someone who kept me alive that is hurting.

Haymitch didn't start drinking after our Games. It was the months after his first failed mentoring of tributes from District 12. I can't blame him for his drinking problem, and neither can anyone else, because — let's face it — after you watched the deaths of kids you've come to love, you need to kill your sorrows.

His walls are plain. He has accepted no offer of redecoration from Katniss' mother, and refuses to paint the walls anything than the slate concrete gray that came with the standard housing. I wish he would, and add some color to his walls. It would elevate some of the pain that he harbors in his heart. Then again, I think color cures all.

So I wasn't surprised when I found him laying on the mattress on his floor, vomit surrounding his head, and a bottle of vodka rolling loosely around his hand. I did feel immense pain in my chest though. This man, who kept me alive all these years — like a second father — was here, broken and damaged, with hurt that wafted of him like perfume.

I set my messenger bag on the floor. These visits into Haymitch's house weren't foreign to me, I do them customarily before work, so he and I both knew the drill as per usual. I put my collection of keys on top of my bag and they clanged together as they brushed one another.

I wiped my hands on the tops of my pants and walked forward, he facing me, and his face scrunched up when he was finished discovering who I was.

"Boy, you don't need to be here," He managed in his broken slur.

"Yes, I do," I muttered.

"You take care of your girl. You don't need me on that list of yours," He tried to shoo me away with his hand, but it fell flat and he stopped quickly. I walked over the piles of clothes and the useless objects he collects, and walked over to him. His mattress should be on the second story, but he decided early on that the walk upstairs while drunk wasn't worth the falling.

I bent myself down at the knees and removed the bottle from the tips of his fingers. I set it behind me and he grunted in protest. I reached out in front of me, and grabbed him from under his arms and heaved him up. He wasn't light, and even with the multiple bags of flour I've been lifting, it didn't stop the strain of the muscles in my back.

I set him upright against the headboard and watched his head loll around uselessly. I grabbed his jaw firmly and forced him to meet my eyes.

"This isn't healthy, Haymitch," I said. He rolled his eyes.

"Heard that before," I let go of his face and got up out of my crouch and sat at the base of his bed by his feet. I rested my elbows on top of my knees and laced my hands together. His floor was worse that Katniss' and that's saying a lot. The constant years of abuse and neglect from him have left his house in disarray. I wish I could make him better.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong?" he asked. I looked at the floor in front of me.

"It's Katniss," I said.

"Ah, the girl," He sighed. "Boy, you're the best thing she's got," I gave a half smile.

"She needs something more though," I said, in honesty. Haymitch barked out a laugh.

"She doesn't know what she needs," He said, and I turned to look at him. "She's got you though — and that's a start," His voice was cracked and withered like his hands, and I try desperately to believe his words.

"She —" I start, then sigh and look down at the floor. "She tried to kill herself," I say and look at him wanting to see his reaction. There was none, and I stared at him until he finally opened his mouth and spoke.

"I don't think that was the first time," He says. I want to punch something. Break it into pieces and let it crumble under the weight of my foot. Katniss shouldn't have to think about death or pain or death and dying. She should have the world, the moon and it's stars. She deserved the sun soaked in her skin and glow like the fire she is.

"She can't just —" I start, and breathe. "She can't —" In. Out. In. Out. "She can't leave me like that." I manage. I only want to give her everything. That soft voice I first heard singing in the Plaza when I was younger, the young girl who lost her life in the line of battle, and the roses I plant in front of her house. She doesn't need to kill herself, if I could only give her what she needs.

"You can't control her, Peeta," He states, and he's right. She is the wind, free in her dance, that carries autumn leaves and birds in its flight.

"I know," I say and bury my face in my hands. "But if I was more for her — if I was enough — she wouldn't see death as an option," If she was satisfied with me — if it were enough to live for — she wouldn't want to freeze to death."

"You are enough," He says. "She just doesn't realize it yet."

"How long will it take, Haymitch?" I bark out and lift my head up from my hands. "I'm tired of seeing her like this! I want her to be the girl I knew, not this broken thing so drugged up on medicine she sometimes doesn't know me!"

"But that's not her fault," he points out. If I am judging Katniss, Haymitch must feel judged too. They have both handled their means of coping in different ways just as I have, but I didn't know Katniss was one to cop out.

"It's that shit they've got her on," I cuss out. "They've got her on so much, she doesn't know what she wants anymore," And with this, I am a firm believer. These doctors, they think they have her best interests in mind but they don't. All they know is that they are treating the Mockingjay, and the one who prescribes the most, is her primary doctor.

"Maybe that's true," Haymitch agrees. "But maybe this is just her way of letting out all that inside her out."

"But if I meant enough to her, Haymitch, she would let me heal her," I look up at him and he shakes his head.

"She's not one to ask for help, Boy, and you know that," and I do. As much as I wish she'd have asked for me, this is still a sick sign that she is the Katniss I used to know.

"I just —" I struggle to find words. "I want to fix her," I look up at him. "Make her better, and be able to love her like she needs to be."

"You're too perfect for her," He says. "You know that?" I laugh and look down at my hands.

"But she's perfect for me," I say and put my hands on my knees and push myself up. I look down at my broken mentor, and raise and eyebrow at him. "No more drinks for a couple hours, you hear?" He scrunches up his face.

"Yeah, yeah," He lifts his hands and motions me toward the door.

"Bye, Haymitch," I say, and pat his shoulder.

"See ya, Peeta," He manages and I turn around and make my way to the door. I sling my bag across my body and grab my set of keys and shove them in my pocket. I take one last look at Haymitch before I open the door and shut it behind me.

The cobble stone pavement is uneven beneath my feet, and I put my hands inside my pockets to keep them from shaking in this cold. I want the summer heat already, its humidity and clinging shirts and clothes. I want its green grass, and thriving trees. Not this dead silence where nothing lives, and birds hardly leave their homes.

I turn the corner to the shop and watch as children play in the Plaza and try to fly kites without wind. It's a little girl and boy, and I pray, with every fiber of my being, that nothing will strip them of their childhood. I wan to preserve their famished innocence, and shelter them from the dangers that may inflict on them.

I reach the bakery and it's cold and my hands are frozen, but with numb fingers I pull out my keys and open the bakery. Unlike my mother who refused to keep the heater on though the night, I keep the generator running and let it pour out hot air. It makes for a better environment, and lets customers in eagerly off the streets.

I walk around the counters that wrap around the shop and set my bag in the back. I turn on all the lights, and set up the displays. I chose the color scheme with Katniss in mind. The golden lighting, and dark accents here and there, all remind me of her dark spirit, and it helps guide me thorough out the day. I never lose inspiration.

I took out the flour and sugar and decided on making ginger snaps for the day. The dough was malleable in my hands, and I rolled them carefully so the sugar was evenly spread all over. There was an art to this, my father taught me, a serendipity that one can only find when focusing on details.

The ovens radiated heat behind me, and I placed the raw cookies in the oven, trying to avoid letting the heat escape. It was a tedious but humble process that left me time to think.

I feel inferior for Katniss. Nothing of me will bring her pleasantry. I can run every day with my love of flour, yet it will never be good enough. I should run harder, push myself to my limits, and learn to hunt. I need to find a common ground with her, make it so we can build a relationship on something. Not sex where we're not allowed to say "I love you".

But last night — she let me say my three words, and then she tried to kill herself. It's like receiving the most perfect gift, but then having it and the giver taken away from you. I wish I could make her perfect so she'd never have to feel that way again.

This break from our routines was a relief. From the dinner she made, to the words that die to be spoken, that was what we needed. Maybe it was too much to handle at once. It was such a clean break we couldn't handle it.

The door dings behind me, and I turn to find a woman standing in the bakery. It's Mrs. Acridest, a former Capitol-savvy woman who has had everything from her face filled with chemicals to the gold flecks in her eyes.

"Hi, Mrs. Acridest," I say, and wipe my floured hands on my apron. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes, I'd like half a dozen of the snaps," she doesn't smile. I smile at her.

"You're right on time, they just came out of the oven," I smile and walk over the counter and prepare a box. I open the metal door behind the casing and put the snaps into the box. When I am done, I stand straight and noticed she hasn't moved.

"I've seen that girl of yours around," She says and I freeze. Her husband is Katniss' primary physiatrist, the main pill pusher. I panic, and wonder if she heard us last night on her late walks with her poodles.

"Oh, you have?" I say nonchalantly as I place wax paper over the top of the snaps. She nods her head.

"Yes, she's the hunter," She says it in a way as if I don't know this.

"She enjoys it," I say and place a golden Mellark seal over the box. I smile at her as I place it on top of the counter. I want her to leave in stop asking questions, but she doesn't move.

"I'd say she's rather broken, isn't she? At least, that's what my husband says," She exclaims. I know what he is doing is a breach of patient-doctor confidentiality, and I know that if I meet him I will punch him in the jaw.

"She's recovering," I say as calmly as I can manage, and turn my back to the oven that dings. I hear her high heels move and the box shift on the counter.

"I hope you all recover just fine, Mr. Mellark," She says.

"Thank you," I mutter. I hear her walk away and when the door closes behind her, I brace my hands against the granite counter in front of me, and clench my eyes shut.

Everyone knows about our struggles and the battles we have fought, and the brave face we put on once a year now. But they have no idea what we need to face everyday in our minds. It's like waking up into a nightmare you can't escape. A merry-go-round that's no fun, and all you want to do is scream and throw up.

The door dings behind me and I speak up.

"Hi, welcome to Mellark's, I'm —" I turn and am faced with Katniss.

Rage, anger, indignation.

"Hi, Peeta," She croaks out, throat raw, and fucked up.

"Katniss, you shouldn't be here," I say and walk to the oven and punch in the temperature for the next batch of cookies. I want her to leave. I don't want to see what I couldn't, and can't, save.

"I just — I want to say —" She stutters and don't turn to face her.

"Spit it out, Katniss, I'm working," I say and they feel so wrong in my mouth I want to take them back, but this anger feels relieved somehow.

"Thank you," She says.

"You're welcome," I reply. I hear her turn away to leave.

"Why'd you do it Katniss?" I say and turn to her as she turns to me. She's still slightly blue, and her throat is exposed when it needs to be covered. Her hands need gloves, and her head, a hat, but I shouldn't need to tell her all these things.

"I don't know Peeta, I just —"

"You just what? Think that no one will miss you? What about your mother, Gale, me, or Prim?" The last one hurt, and I want her to feel it. She flinches. "Do you think she'd want you to kill yourself? You think she died just to see you die too?"

"No, Peeta —" She starts and I shake my head.

"You know what Katniss? I can't handle this right now, please leave," I breathe deeply and know that she needs to leave because I will just spew out words I'll regret later. Anger is a dangerous thing combined with hurt and words, one I don't like to get tangled in.

"Okay, Peeta," She says as I turn away and clench my eyes tight, hearing the tears in her voice, knowing because it's me telling her to leave. I lean against the counter top and turn around. She's sitting there, watching the kids in the Plaza, and I love her so much it hurts. She's just sitting there, all quiet, and somber, and I wonder if the events of last night really did happen.

I make her tea and place it in the nicest cup I have. I push the door open with my back and turn to the bistro chair she sits in. I place the tea in front of her. She looks up in surprise, like she always does. These unknown acts of kindness she deserves didn't happen to her often before I promised to give her the world.

"I'm sorry," I say when I sit in front of her.

"Peeta, I'm sorry about last night," She rushes out, and I know she has wanted to say this since she walked in the shop.

"Katniss, why would you do something like that?" She looks at the wire openings in the table.

"I don't — I don't know," She admits.

"Did you think about Gale?" It hurts to imagine her in love him, but maybe she misses him and his company. They have a bond, as much as I dislike, and was severed before he left for 4, but it still linger there. I can see it in her eyes when I bring him up. "I mean, your Mom, she'd have been devastated," She nods her head.

"I don't know Peeta, I just needed something —" She breaks off and coughs like Haymitch does when he's about to vomit.

"Drink your tea," I offer. "It'll help," She does and a warm glow appears on her cheeks. "I needed something to feel," She explains, and I want to laugh as hard as I can.

She wanted to feel? She could have done countless things to be able to feel, and yet she chose to purposefully get hypothermia?

"But did you think about what the could have done to your life Katniss? Get a tattoo, or run a mile, but don't just go out trying to kill yourself. Do you know what that would have done to me?" My voice cracks. "I don't know what I'd do without you," I admit. "I know you think you don't mean anything to anybody, but you mean the world to me."

"I'm so sorry, Peeta," She says, and I look up and see tears in her eyes. "I really — I just — I won't do it again."

"You promise?" I ask.

"I swear," her words revive though me. Her eyes are like molten embers and I want to drown myself in them. She's so beautiful it hurts.

"How's your body?" I ask deferring the topic.

"It hurts. More than it did after the Games."

"We had Capitol medicine back then," I point out.

"Did you tell the Doctors?" She asks, pushing her finger around the rim of her cup.

"No," I say, remembering the woman in the bakery, and what her husband would have done. "I thought about it, don't get me wrong. But, I didn't want you to be on more medication. You're on enough as it is."

"Thank you, Peeta. For everything," She says, and I nod my head because I don't want to say the word I want to and have her react again. Her body is threatening to say something. I not it, and before I can say something to stop her she speaks. "I love you," she says.

"Last time you tried to say that Katniss, you went home and tried to kill yourself. Don't say it if you're going to be stupid after."

"Stop it, Peeta," She says as she pushes herself from the chair. It makes a shrill noise and she limps her way over to where I sit. I look up at her as she crouches down to be at my eye level.

"I love you, Peeta," She says and kisses me. "I will never hurt you again, I promise. I swear on my life," She kisses me again, her mouth warm. "You will never feel conflicted again," I cry now, and Katniss' kisses my face, absorbing the tears in her body. I wrap my arms around her waist and stand us upright so she can rest her head on my chest.

"Thank you, Katniss," I say, calm again.

"Do you want to go upstairs, Peeta?" She pulls away and looks up at me.

"I'd love to Katniss," I say and kiss her nose. "But I'm pretty sure your body can't handle that right now," She scrunches up her nose and I laugh. I pick her up in my arms and take her through the threshold of the bakery and upstairs to my spare room. I laid her on the bed and kissed her until she moaned. I reached behind her and grabbed her backside.

"Peeta, please," She breathed.

"No, Katniss," I say as calmly as I can manage. "Your body is too weak for that," I slide my hands from her backside to the dip between her hips and she sighs my name.

"Stop me if you need me to," I whispered and then placed my mouth on hers.


End file.
